t r a p p e d
by imnothumanami
Summary: And here lies she, Maxine Caulfield with the power to bend the will of time – upon the cold hard tiles of the Dark Room. Tied up. Helpless. Trapped. [WARNING: Jefferfield, rated M for language] -note: I don't ship these characters in a lovey dovey happily ever after kind of way. I recognize that this pairing is incredibly unhealthy. Don't like don't read.-
1. Chapter 1

_Maxine in the dark room. Maxine in the dark room. Maxine in the dark room..._

Oh how the mighty have fallen. In the space of a week she's discovered her ability to wield time and use it for whatever she wants. She's saved lives. She's helped people. She's condemned people. She's killed people. William is dead. Rachel is dead. **Chloe** is dead.

And here lies she, Maxine Caulfield with the power to bend the will of time – upon the cold hard tiles of the Dark Room. Tied up. Helpless. Trapped.

Victoria was with her. And then she wasn't. Max wasn't there either at one point. But now she's back and everything is so much worse than it started. Victoria, Nathan? Both dead. Probably. Just like the rest of them. David was here too and his deaths are etched so clearly into her minds eye. Over and over and over again.

She can't remember if he ever even came to find her in this one. He might have. He could still be alive, they all could. Alive or dead. Dead or alive. Dead and alive. Its all the same now. Everybody is and isn't all at the same _time_.

Time.

Time. Time is the real killer here.

" _Oh_ Max...you're so beautiful right now. I really wish you could see yourself. Shivering. Sweating. Nonsense spilling from between your soft. Pink. Lips." there's a pause and the sound of a camera shutter echoing throughout the room, "If only you could just. Lie. **Still**." every word is emphasized with more clicks of a camera shutter.

It takes every single ounce of strength she can draw from inside of her, but Max forces her eyes open and spits the words at her captor, " _Fuck. You._ "

Mr Jefferson's (Please, call me Mark) rich laughter rumbles through the room and sends goosebumps across her skin. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Max can hear him circling around her like a predator circling his prey, "My sweet Maxine, such harsh language. I know about your feelings for me Max, I thought you'd be happier finding out they were returned."

The lump in her throat grows with his words. No. Nonono. Her _feelings_ were that of respect. Of admiration for the man who'd once been her hero. And here he was, twisting them into something dark and dirty.

"You don't care about me. There are no feelings Jefferson." the name left a bad taste in her mouth.

Footsteps halt and the sheet beneath her shifts and pulls slightly as his weight lowers to her height. Slowly a hand slides over her hip, fingers trailing feather light over the sliver of exposed flesh there. Palm flattening out, he follows the curve of her waist to her swell of her breast and ignores the violent tremors wracking her prone form, "Oh but there are Max. What I feel for you is so much more than you could have imagined."

Letting the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, out, Max swallows hard. The dryness created by being unconscious and drugged makes her throat feel like sandpaper as it moves against itself. The pads of unseen fingers pause over the pulse point in her throat, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat as it races, "I-if you-if you really c-cared about me. Why don't you let m-me go?" she curses at her inability to not show the fear that is consuming her.

The fingers against her neck suddenly press in harder, pain spreading out from beneath them as she struggles futilely. And then the pressure is gone and Jefferson's face appears in her line of vision. Brows drawn together, faux concern and disappointment marring his features as he reaches out towards Max, "But then I won't have you. You're special Max, you're so much more than the other's I brought down here. Rachel...Kate...Victoria. They're all gone – dead, for a reason. They weren't **you**." he watches as her face contorts in grief and her chest pulses with each aborted sob, "Don't cry Max, nothing is going to happen to you here. You're safe. I could never kill you."

It's lies, it's all lies. If he's done it once he'll do it again. And again, and again.

Because he is twisted and evil.

All she needs-All she needs is a photo.

"Can I see your photos?" she breathes out, "Please?"

She doesn't want to see them. If it was possible, she would give anything not to see what he has done to her. But what she wants and what she needs to survive are two very different things. So if that means she has to look at her own face, slack and vacant in drug induced slumber so be it.

Jefferson is watching her so carefully. Warm, soft palms cups her jaw as his fingers sweep over her cheeks delicately, "I was hoping you'd ask me that Max. I knew you were the one to appreciate all I've done." the hands are gone and she sees him stand and stroll away from her to the table.

He stands at the surface, picking his way through photo after photo. Selecting which ones to show to anybody is an important process. Finally he nods decisively, his choices made as he turns to bring them to her. The light glints over his glasses, obscuring his eyes but there's no mistaking the way his lips curve up in the corners, "As somebody so taken with their own appearance as you are Miss _Selfie_ , I think you'll enjoy what I've done for you."

They're horrific. The second her gaze lands on her own face Max has to swallow down the wave of panic and bile that rises up from within her. Tears begin to cloud her vision as she forces herself to _look_ at what's been placed in front of her.

Max placed and posed and shot from every angle. It's the single most violating thing she's ever experienced, but what's worse is the first word that flashes unbidden through her mind. _Beautiful_. And isn't that a kick in the teeth.

Because for as awful and sick as he is, Jefferson is good at what he does. And he's right. She looks beautiful, almost otherworldly in the glow of light in the Dark Room.

"What do you think Max?" his voice jolts her back into the present. Or the past. It could be either she wouldn't know yet.

Forcing a trembling smile in his direction she nods, "Th-they're gorgeous Mr Jefferson. Really, they're amazing." it isn't a lie.

He crouches once more and whisks the photographs away. In her shock at seeing them, Max forgot what she'd needed them for and now they're gone. Fuck. **FUCK**.

"Please Max, I must insist...call me Mark. After all we share a bond that's...innappropriate for a teacher and student, and we are equals here. Well. To a point."

And all at once it becomes clear what is going to happen. Two paths once fuzzy and shrouded in shadows, become crystal clear as a summer's day.

 _Go along with him._

Or

 _Fight him._

Any other time. All other times, and it would have been the second option.

But god she is just so tired. Her bones ache, her heart aches. Everything aches with emptiness leaving her feeling so hollow. William. Rachel. David. Victoria. Nathan. Kate. Chloe...names that have been accumulating and sitting in the back of her mind. Their deaths weighing down on her mind, body and soul.

She is so **tired**.

"Of course...Mark." she feels him reach beneath her and scoop her up into a chair.

He leans down until he is face to face with her. She can taste the mint on his breath as it curls around her lips, her nose. At this angle she can see every hair, every hint of a freckle. She can see herself in his glasses. He smiles sweetly and tilts his head ever so slightly, "You and me Max. It's you and me now, forever."

Forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Forever.

If there had ever been any doubt that forever was a long time, it was long gone from her mind by now. He breathes it into her skin each night as they curl beneath the sheets. Traces it into the soft flesh of her inner thigh as he presses butterfly soft kisses to the curve of her hip. _Forever. Forever. Forever._

Max didn't know how long he'd hidden her away in the Dark Room. There had been moments where time seemed to slow and stop and twist. Was she still there? Had she ever really been there? Images of people she'd seen die a hundred times flickered into focus only to disappear within the next second. Chloe laughing, crying, dead. Victoria sneering, grateful, dead. Kate lost, smiling, dead.

The storm raged on above them, furious and unforgiving. If she closed her eyes she could feel the rain and hear the screams.

When it had finally passed minutes or hours later, he'd returned to her side. Sliding his hands beneath her armpits like one would a small child, he'd lifted her to her feet. Arms encircling her torso he'd led her trembling form up out of the Dark Room and into the open air. The barn remained standing _barely_ and he walked her over to the car waiting for them.

He'd driven through the town.

The pads of her fingers pressed painfully against the glass of the window as they slowly moved along the roads. Buildings she'd once frequented laid burnt and empty. Bodies littered the streets and sidewalks, faces she'd known and some she hadn't. Her breath fogged the window as she laid her forehead against it, soaking in the cold.

Her heart ached and her throat felt raw. _Don't cry, don't you dare cry. Don't make a sound._ She'd closed her eyes to the devastation of Arcadia Bay and swallowed down the rising bile.

That had been three days ago.

Three days of driving away away from Arcadia Bay, as far as they could get.

Three days of gas station food and his soft off-key singing along to the radio.

Three nights of being encased in his arms as he loved her. _Almost there_ , he'd whispered afterwards, _One more day._

It's day four and they're on the road for the last time or so he says.

The house is a modest Victorian style two floors painted in rich greens, purples and reds. A low white picket fence surrounds the small garden and a pretty cobblestone path wound its way up to the front porch. A tall white archway framed the front gate, cloaked in bright wisteria that brushed against her hair as Mark led her to the front door – his hand a steady guiding weight against the small of her back.

"Do you like it?"

Anybody passing by might look at them and see a young couple in love and just about to move into their first home. Were someone to take a second closer look they might see the way her lips tightened, her eyes remaining dull as she peered up at the beautiful house. See the way his other hand slid smoothly across his own torso to circle his fingers around her wrist, tightening a little more with each new moment of silence.

Max stood swaying in the breeze, letting the pain at her wrist anchor her. The scent of flowers hung sickly sweet and overpowering in the air. She felt like she was slowly being asphyxiated.

" _Do you like it_?" his voice was closer now, deeper as his smile turned brittle.

"It's beautiful." She whispered finally and her wrist was released.

A click the door was unlocked. Another second and the door was opened, the hand low against her back pressing her forward into her new prison.

Mark's smile had reclaimed its twinkle. Nudging the door shut with his foot, he shifted his hand from her back to wrap his arms around her waist and draw her closer to him. Her face rested against his chest and she could feel him nosing at her hair, breathing deeply before he spoke again, "I'm glad you like it," he paused and nuzzled his way down to the space above her ear, "I picked it just for you."

Leaning back from her, he caught her gaze with his own, "You must be exhausted after all that travel." It didn't sound like a question until he gripped her jaw in his palm and brushed his thumb over her cheek. The pressure against the bone increased – a reminder of how fragile she was. How easily it would be for him to break her.

Offering a weak smile (little more than a twitch at the corners of her lips) Max nodded, "Exhausted." And allowed him to guide her head closer, pressing his lips against her own.

Leading her up the curved staircase and onto the second floor landing; he'd paused outside the door at the beginning of the hallway, "I want to show you something first," he explained as he opened the door.

The breath she'd been holding rushed from her in a harsh gasp at the sight. Tearing herself out of his grip she wrapped her arms around herself as if to keep from falling apart. She couldn't breathe. Her chest ached. Everything _hurt_.

Photographs. Hundreds of developed photographs. Hanging from the ceiling, plastered to the wall. Covering the window to make sure no light got through. Faces of people she knew. People who were gone now.

There were the photos of Kate and Rachel that she'd already seen. Among them she caught glimpses of Victoria's face, eyes closed and face slack with sleep? With death? They were horrific, yes, but they weren't the cause for such a violent reaction.

A projector had been installed, hanging from the ceiling and casting an eerie glow over the room. The images it shuffled through and displayed one at a time took up most of the far wall, huge and imposing. It was the first thing one would see upon entering the room.

Chloe lay splayed over the dirt in the junkyard. Eyes vacant and dead, her skin as pale white as the moon. Spatters of red surrounded the hole in the middle of her forehead, and a darker pool of blood stained her hair from beneath her head. Fuck.

" _Fuck_ ," the word escaped as a whisper, "Oh _fuck_. Chloe, oh god," Max swallowed the rising bile back down, her chest heaving with wracking gasps as panic started to set in. Tears burned hot trails down her face and a low, heartbroken whine filled the room.

"Isn't she beautiful?"

Spinning around to face the monster responsible, Max staggered away from him as fast as she could. Her back hit the closed door as she peered at him with watery eyes, "You killed her," her voice had never sounded so gravelly, "You're a fucking monster. **YOU KILLED HER!** "

Immediately he was on her. Encasing her wrists in his bone crushing grip, Mark pinned them to the door behind her. There was a fire in his eyes, a barely concealed fury that terrified her more than anything else she'd ever seen. This was a murderer. This was a man who had drugged and killed young women in cold blood.

The next words he spoke seemed to tear out of him in a snarl, "I'm **not** a monster," his face was only an inch or two away from her own, his eyes boring holes into her, "I'm an **artist** , and a better one than you will ever be because I. Am willing. To do. What it _takes_ to create a _masterpiece_!"

Suddenly his lips were on hers, teeth clashing painfully as he forced his tongue inside of her mouth. It wasn't like the other times. Where they had been soft this was hard. This was dangerous. This was pain. This was the metallic taste of blood as she gave up fighting.

Before she knew what was happening, he'd violently torn away and sunk his teeth into her shoulder. A strangled sob warbled in her throat as he broke through her soft skin, and the blood began to trickle from the new wounds.

" _Shit_ ," Mark pulled away and instantly began peppering kisses along her neck and up to her jaw, "I'm sorry Max," she flinched at the sound of her name, "I shouldn't have let my anger get the better of me," His voice had lost any and all of the rage it held only minutes earlier, "But you shouldn't antagonize me like that. Not again. We've both learned something today haven't we?" he emphasized his words with a gentle peck to both of her closed eyelids before raising her chin with his finger, "Let's get you cleaned up."

Ushering her from the room, he carefully closed and locked the door behind him; slipping the key into his pocket. He slowly led her down the hall to the last door and sat her down on the enormous bed inside of what could only be the master bedroom. Max watched with a sluggish detached-ness as he disappeared through a different door off to the side, and returned with a first aid kit.

"En suite," he explained, motioning behind him.

They sat in silence as he cleaned away the mess he'd made of her shoulder. After disinfecting it and covering it with a bandage, he rested his cheek against it. One of his hands slid up her arm and rubbed lightly over one of her moles there, "Do you forgive me?" he asked quietly.

When she didn't answer, he began to undress her just as he had the past three nights. Once he'd removed every item of her clothing, she let him lay her down in the bed and draw the covers up over her. Standing up and beginning to strip out of his own shirt and pants, she waited for him to round the bed and slide under the covers until he was pressed up against her back.

Curving his body around hers, he nestled his chin into the crook of her unharmed shoulder and neck, "You will forgive me." He murmured. It wasn't a question this time.

She would forgive him.

.:~+~+~+~:.

End part two of a story I wasn't certain I was going to continue.

I've had this as a WIP for a while and finally finished it today so here you go ^^

In case you missed the memo: I don't ship these characters in a lovey dovey happily ever after kind of way. I (and I hope that anyone who reads this) recognize that this pairing is incredibly unhealthy.


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